


Seasonal Comforts

by martinisandart



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Well I finally wrote for whumptober, Whump, and inktober, i defo didn’t miss like a weeks worth of writing, janey janey janey, phrack - Freeform, the inspector’s cute sweater, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 08:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21133697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martinisandart/pseuds/martinisandart
Summary: It’s Yuletide at Wardlow, and when decorating the tree with Jane, Phryne is overcome with melancholia. Perhaps some peace and quiet would be better?(For the Whumptober prompts of ‘shaky hands’, and inktober days 16 through 22)





	Seasonal Comforts

**Author's Note:**

> October 16 through 22: (wild, ornament, misfit, sling, tread, treasure, ghost).

“Jane!” yelled Phryne from upstairs,   
“Have you seen the string lights shaped like pears? Aunt Prudence said that she had them fixed and send them to us to use, but I can’t seem to find them anywhere!”   
Silence answered her, and Phryne held a hand to her brow, blowing a stray hair out of her eyes, before smoothing her fringe. It was the height of summer, and unfortunately, as much as the misfit-filled family at Wardlow loved the decorating process for the yuletide season, everybody was truly feeling the heat: cutting down the fir tree had been simply, hell, both Inspector Robinson and Mr. Butler outside in shirtsleeves trying to drag the eight foot tree up the front path, and Dot fluttering around like an anxious butterfly, attempting to keep some semblance of order, while supplying everyone with ice cold lemonade and biscuits fresh from the oven. Once the tree had made its way inside, there had been the small matter of trying to get it to stand, and after that the painful venture into the attic to try and find the many boxes of decorative items that would be needed to pull the whole process together. 

Dot had retired to the kitchen quite a while ago, thought Phryne to herself, as she tried to both fix her hair, and rearrange the multitude of cards that were already sat in their place, high on the mantelpiece, just begging to be knocked over by Ember, the black cat who Jane had pulled in from a storm... at about this time the year before! There were so many cards this year, from all sorts of people- some of them old friends like Mac, others old friends like Captain Compton. Some cards written in a wild, scrolling font (those would be from the Inspector’s fellow officers at City South), and other cards barely written at all, typed in gilded ink, and signed with a flourish, promising to meet for dinner again sometime soon. Those cards were more commonly made of posh, embellished paper, and decorated with hand painted designs- a sure tell that they came from the world of high society, of which Phryne would certainly not be joining for dinner at any point in the future. Since she had started ‘courting’ the Inspector, as her Aunt liked to refer to it, the meetings with her high society friends had become less and less frequent. She stepped down off the ladder on which she had been stood to reach the top of the fireplace, and replenished her glass with another measure of the fine whiskey that Mac had bought with her the last time she had paid a visit. Perhaps she did not mind for the lack of high society, she thought to herself as she sipped the drink. It was so much nicer to have a home full of life and light that one could look forward to returning home to every evening, rather than have to put on a face and act as if you actually enjoyed spending time with the ‘up and coming bright young things’ of the inner city. It was simply lovely, to have loved ones who were worthy of all the time in the world. 

As if on cue, Jane appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, her arms laden down with multiple boxes of decorations and lights.   
“Miss Phryne!” she said with a smile, still refusing to call her guardian by her first name alone, even after two years of being her ward,   
“The Inspect- I mean, Jack found the pear lights! They were tucked away with all the other gifts that Great Aunt Prudence has sent and you haven’t opened.” A smile played in the girl’s eyes, and Phryne struggled not to laugh. It was true- most of the boxes sent across by her Aunt stayed unopened for the grand majority of their life, and gathered dust in her attic until someone (usually Dot), decided that it was finally time to throw them out, or give them away to the less fortunate.   
Phryne stood, and taking the boxes, swept Jane into a hug.  
“You really are a darling, Jane.” she said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her ward’s forehead, before letting her go, and venturing into the first box that had been offered up, rifling through the ornaments before pulling out a bright red bauble and smiling,   
“Shall we?” she said, gesturing to the tree behind her, where it stood, bare save a string of candy canes that Dot had already snuck on behind her back. 

Jane’s face lit up, and without a second thought, took the box from Phryne’s proffered grasp, and began to place baubles on the tree’s limbs, arranging them in artful patterns of red, gold and silver. Phryne watched her for a moment, a tender smile gracing her lips in a rare moment of peace. Jane had come so, so far since being picked up as a dirty orphan on the train to Ballarat- so far! She was the epitome of a delight, she thought, sitting back down in her chair. Perhaps, she had indeed started as a bit of a misfit in Phryne’s oddly cobbled-together family, but then again, maybe that was what made them all fit so well together- all of them were a little out of place in their own right, and that was a glorious thing. None of them were so normal that it seemed boring, why, even the dour Inspector had made himself a stand-out character by disregarding the norms of society and stepping out with someone who clearly (as mean as that may sound, thought Phryne) was not of a lower class! 

She watched Jane tackle the tree in silence, sipping her drink and wondering what her life would be like without Jack, without Jane, without the stupid title her father had inherited that had made her quite so honourable in the first place... ah, yes. She’d still be in Collingwood, wearing yet more second hand flannels, and decorating a very small, very sad tree with threaded popcorn and handmade paper chains- it would be a very sorry state of affairs. Perhaps, she would still have met Jack, but rather than courting her, he would be politely asking her and her six (Six! Darn the Collingwood lifestyle!) children to keep the noise down to a minimum, as their elderly neighbours could hear them through the paper-thin walls. Maybe he would sling an orange at them as present from the wealthier areas, and her children would squabble, each of them complaining that the other got a segment that was ever-so-slightly larger than another, and everyone would end up crying, just how her own childhood Christmases had been. She knew the dismal feeling of a cold, sad Christmas all too well, and that? Well, that was why she tried to make Christmas at Wardlow a lavish affair, full of love, light, and to have utter charisma oozing from every brick of the house. Phryne knew, all too well, that the early years of Jane’s life would not have even held a pitiful excuse for Christmas. There would have been no one to care for her, to wrap her up in seasonal warmth, to read her stories by the fire in hopes that the loosely fabled character of every child’s dreams would arrive with gifts for them all. These were the kind of thoughts that always filled her mind around Christmastime, thoughts that were much more melancholy than that of what the season tended to allow- thoughts of what was, and what could have been, if only Janey was still around to pass the time with.  
The guilt always crept in, when she thought of the festive season in the couple of years she had gone home from boarding school for the holidays (for soon after Janey’s death, her good-for-nothing father had inherited his title, and well. That was where they found themselves). Her mother had cried, her father had drunk, and when all the melancholia was over, Phryne would find herself sat in her room, crying over the sister she had who should have lived many more happy years. Damn Foyle! Damn him and his stupid plans! Phryne curled her hand into itself, and let her perfectly painted nails press half-moon crescents into her pale skin. Damn Foyle! 

“Jane?” her voice wavered, and the girl in question immediately turned and affixed her with a questioning, if not a little worried, gaze.   
“Yes Miss Phryne? her voice was tender, soft, and Phryne forced herself to smile. Jane had gotten to be everything that Janey had never had the chance to. Her heart clenched, and she fixed a smile upon her lips, and added a lilt to her voice.   
“Would you go and see what Dot is baking? It smells delightful!”   
She knew her façade was slim, and she knew that Jane could see through it, but, the sweet girl nodded, and stepped down off of the ladder regardless.   
“Probably gingerbread!” said Jane with a smile, and with that she left the room, her tread so soft that it barely made a sound. 

As soon as Jane left the room, Phryne felt her barriers break. There was nothing to hold back the fear, or the tears, and once the floodgates had been torn down, it was far too hard to put them back up again- especially if people were expecting her to.   
Tears rolled down her cheeks in a mean parody of the crying virgin mother from one of her earliest cases, and her body shook. There was no reason not to cry, she thought to herself. Your sister is dead. Dead. Your sister had no chance to live the life that your father’s stupid title could have given to her, she never got the lavish silk dresses, the balls, the walks in the countryside with suitors who knew full well that they had no chance with the woman who they were with! She never got the adventure, the thrill, the absolute magic that came with living on the very, very edge of safety, nor did she know how it felt to jump off into the unknown without a backwards glance. Why, she never even got the scorn of Aunt Prudence when she was in a sour mood. She never got to kiss the man she could have loved, or be the daughter that her mother needed in the long months following a cold case. Janey would have been the daughter her parents had needed, and she knew it. Janey would have led the perfect life, settled down early, and born the gift of grandchildren, to carry on the family’s untainted heritage, would have made her parents proud! 

Phryne stood, and still trembling, went to the drinks cart to pour herself a measure of whiskey, but she couldn’t. Her hands were shaking too much, the glass stopper of the decanter blatantly refusing to come out, the glass clacking against its side, and making a godawful noise. She bit her lip and suppressed a wail. Is this who her parents were stuck with? She looked in the mirror that sat next to the drinks cart for the specific purpose of touching up her lipstick, and regarded her tear streaked visage. Rather than a wealthy socialite who lived the perfect life with a family who she adored, while solving investigations that were important to so many people, she tried to see herself through what she was sure would be her parent’s eyes, and wiped her eyes with hands that were still shaking in a ridiculous manner. 

She was Phryne Fisher, supposed to be Psyche Fisher, daughter of The Baron of Richmond, mother to Jane. She was a failed detective, who couldn’t even solve the case of her own sister’s disappearance without involving the help of the police, who had let her sister wander off in the first place, who had managed to fail her parents. She was a woman of loose morals, who refused to settle down in the manner her parents had desired, who didn’t give them the typical family of which everyone desired, who drove too fast, and lived too fast, and- Phryne let out a sob. She certainly was not a treasure in anyone’s eyes, least of all her parents. A quiet tremor wracked her body, and she laid her head on the cool marble of the mantelpiece. These thoughts were too much for a quiet afternoon when one was supposed to be decorating with the family. 

A gentle hand grasped her shoulder, and almost in surprise, Phryne looked up to see her Inspector placing down more decorations in the corner of the room, before fixing her with a caring gaze, and offering up and handkerchief for her face. She took it gratefully, and he pulled her into his arms, not asking for the reason for which she was such a wreck, but instead, offering the comfort of which he knew she needed. Phryne rested her head onto his warm, woollen chest (for he had forgone the usual three-piece suit, and instead wore his winter sweater, corduroy trousers and a pair of tartan slippers that Jane had bought him), and cried. She cried until there were no tears left, until there was a damp patch on the inspector’s sweater, until the sobbing had subsided, and only then, did she look up and meet Jack’s eyes. He was looking at her as he always did: as if she had hung the moon in the sky, as if she were some priceless treasure that simply deserved the most care, the most comfort. 

“I’m sorry.” her voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears made themselves known.   
Jack kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and then once softly on her lips.   
“You have nothing to be sorry for, darling.” he murmured into her hair, and she clung onto him like a lifeline. She sobbed again.  
“But I’m me. I’m Phryne Fisher.” she said forlornly,  
“My sister doesn’t get to see Christmas because of me.” 

Jack nodded. Ah. This happened almost every year- the blame for her sister’s death, pinned on her every year like some battle wound that kept playing up- her sister’s ghost tormenting her every year. 

“Listen to me.” his voice was so tender that she had no choice but to listen, no matter how much her mind was trying to tell her not to.  
“You’re Phryne Fisher, supposed to be Psyche Fisher, daughter of The Baron of Richmond, mother to our darling Jane. You’re a fantastic detective, who helped the police solve the case of your own sister’s disappearance without a second thought. You’re a woman of modern morals, who refused to settle down in the manner her parents had desired because you needed to live out your own life, who didn’t give them the typical family of which everyone desired because sometimes, societies’ expectations are just too unrealistic. You’re you, and you’re fantastic, and I wouldn’t have anyone else as my partner.” he stopped to take a breath, and looked at her with nothing but love in his eyes.  
“I love you, but please don’t worry about Janey not being here with us.” his voice crackled, and he reached out to wipe a tear from where it had appeared on her cheek.   
“I’m sure that, even without one of Mrs Stanley’s spiritual mediums, that I could tell you that she’s here in spirit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was a wild ride, kids. I’m sorry for missing so many inktober days in a row, gah!! I hope this trash can make it up to you, seeing as I finally wrote my whumptober piece (which was purely accidental... whoops!).  
Comments are adored, and I hope to be back in the swing of writing sooner rather than later.  
\- T x


End file.
